The Two Paths

THE TWO PATHS

by

R.P. Burnham

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

The Wessex Collective on Smashwords

The Two Paths

copyright 2011 by R. P. Burmham

Cover: based on Richard Redgrave’s The Lost Path

Smashwords Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Table of Contents

The Last Hurrah

Resolution

Things Are Looking Brighter

Dreams, Daydreams and Love

A Proposal, a Party and Dinner

A Knight in Shining Armor

Winter Shadows

The Decision Made

Wormwood and Vinegar and Gall

Gallanter, I Know

Unpleasant Conversations

A Special Case

Lost

The Past and the Future

A note about the writer

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The Last Hurrah

Robbie Elder ducked his head as he entered the kitchen of his best friend’s house. He was six foot four and weighed 250 pounds, and the house, built in the 1820’s when people were smaller, had low doors. Ben Soucy was sitting at the kitchen table talking to his mother who, when she caught sight of him, said, and not for the first time, Robbie’s here! Hide the pie! It was her little joke, a comment on his large appetite and the fact he spent more time at the Soucy home than his own house four blocks away. The habit had developed in grade school. His old man, who worked in a shoe factory until it closed its doors and moved to China and then was lucky to get himself a job as a truck driver, was a mean drunk, and he was drunk most nights of the week and pretty much during the entire weekend. The slightest provocation would lead him to smack Robbie in the face or cuff him on the back of his head. His mother, a large woman much bigger than her small but wiry husband, was useless in protecting Robbie because she was afraid of being beaten herself. The result was two-fold: first Robbie grew to hate his parents, and second, as a way to avoid them he began spending as little time as possible at home. This was true even after he put an end to his father’s bullying. When he was young he’d learned to humor the old man and agree with everything he said as a way of minimizing the cuffs and slaps, but by his sophomore year at Courtney Academy when he’d already achieved his present height and weight, he found a way to stop the bullying permanently. His father had swung at him because he didn’t bring him a beer fast enough one Saturday afternoon during a Red Sox game, but in mid-swing Robbie had grabbed his father’s arm, jerked him to a standing position, pinned the other to his father’s side and proceeded to squeeze him until he turned purple and his mother’s screams that he was killing him finally made him stop. Don’t you ever try to lay a hand on me again, old man, or next time I won’t stopping squeezing the life out of your miserable drunken carcass.

After such a dire promise it wasn’t surprising that he spent even less time at home and more at the Soucys’ house. He even got into the habit of occasionally giving Alice (they were on a first-name basis by this time) twenty dollars or so for the food he ate. Alice, knowing all about his drunken father, was always so nice to him that sometimes he’d slip up and call her Mom instead of Alice.

So he was used to her teasing and grinned. I’ve already stopped by a burger joint and had a couple quarter-pounders and fries. Your pie is safe.

Even if I told you I had some ice cream?

That does put a different light on things. He turned to Ben. You having some?

Ben shook his head and looked glum. His girlfriend had broken up with him last weekend after going steady for over two years, and he’d been in a funk ever since.

Alice, with her back to the boys, didn’t see his headshake. She turned from the refrigerator where she was getting the ice cream and looked at him. You’re awfully quiet, Ben. You okay?

Robbie, watching her, admired her form. She was wearing a stylish, tight-fitting blouse and equally tight shorts, the sort usually worn by much younger women, but they looked right on her, for she was still shapely, still sexy and good-looking, especially in comparison to his mother who was already wrinkled, worn-out and decidedly fat. While Ben murmured a half-hearted Yeah, I’m fine, he noticed Alice’s concern, though the other day she’d told him she thought Ben was overreacting. Robbie, seeing his friend moping around like some hero in a boring-assed Shakespeare play, tended to agree. But Ben hadn’t told the whole story. Dolores, his girlfriend, was breaking up with him because of his friendship with Robbie, whom she thought was a bad influence on him. They were like brothers, though Ben was short, redheaded and blue-eyed in comparison to Robbie’s hugeness and dark eyes and curly dark hair that hung below his ears in unruly ringlets. They had been inseparable since young boys. Ben’s moping, from this perspective, spoke well of him. He wasn’t going to ditch his best friend for some broad.

Alice, remembering something, went over to the door and called into the living room to Loren, Ben’s sister. Remember you’ve got to do that overdue homework before the TV can be turned on, young lady. Quickly the television was switched off.

Alice tousled Ben’s red hair as she passed him at the kitchen table. Cutting a big piece of pie and scooping ice cream on top of it, she handed the treat across the counter to Robbie, then with a troubled look regarded her son again. I know you’re thinking of Dolores. There is a solution, you know, one that applies to both of you boys. All she wants is for you to ease up on your hell raising. I know you plan on having a good time tonight, but she’s got a good point. You’re going to graduate next week and enter the adult world. All she’s asking you, Ben, is to settle down.

Robbie couldn’t let these remarks pass by in silence. With a mouth full of pie, he said, Alice, we’re only eighteen. We still have years of hell-raising before we think of settling down.

So you think Dolores is wrong?

He pursed his lips. He’d never liked Dee, a prim little goodie two-shoes in his opinion, but he decided to be diplomatic. Well, she’s just being a girl, know what I mean? She wants to control her man.

Alice pretended to be surprised. You think that’s what women want?

I don’t pretend to understand women much, but that seems right from what I’ve seen.

She shook her head and rolled her eyes in an exaggerated What-am-I-going-to-do-with-you way. You boys. I remember a song when I was your age. ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.’ They do. We do. We’re no different. All Dolores is saying is fun has its place, but drinking yourself blind and doing mischief—and yes, I’m talking about things like when you guys trashed the park, upturning benches and so forth—that stuff is just stupid. Dolores wants to see just a hint of maturity and sense of responsibility.

Hey, weren’t we both disciplined football players?

Alice laughed. You probably were, but I don’t think athletic discipline translates to maturity in life. Quite the opposite, I’d say, when I see some of the things professional athletes do. But speaking of athletes brings up a good point, one that applies especially to you, Robbie. You have a reputation to uphold, one that’s going to be yours till the day you die.

She was referring to the play he made that won the state football championship for Courtney Academy. The Cougars were behind by six points with a little more than a minute remaining in the game and playing defense. All their opponents needed to ensure a win was one more first down. Their first play gained seven yards. After a timeout Robbie, playing linebacker, sniffed out the play when he saw their halfback shift and filled the hole, stopping the fullback at the line of scrimmage. After C.A.’s last timeout, Robbie likewise sniffed out the next play, this time to stunning effect. Their opponents were going to throw a short, safe pass after faking an end-around, but Robbie, having seen the play on film, recognized the formation was almost always a pass play. While his teammates bit on the fake, he made straight for the quarterback and tipped the ball. To his dying day he would remember how time slowed down as he watched the trajectory of the ball before suddenly realizing he could catch it. He did and ran thirty-five yards for the touchdown that tied the game, after which Ben kicked the extra point that won it. The roar of the crowd was so thunderous the ground shook, and when his teammates carried him off the field on their shoulders it seemed as if everyone in Waska had to reach up to touch him. Later that night when things had quieted down, it was Alice who told him that he was going to be a living legend in Waska for the rest of his life.

So far she’d been right as rain. Everywhere he went since last November people would greet him with bright smile and an unmistakable aura of hero-worship. At eateries around town whatever he bought was often either on the house or picked up by some grateful fan. People stopped him on the street to ask him about the play. Kids seeing him drive by in his car would wave madly. Even his father’s attitude had changed towards him; now he was polite and soft-spoken to his heroic boy. Best of all, he’d gotten plenty of girlie-action from the adoring females at school and around town. And yet it could be truly said that all this adulation had not gone to his head. Despite his bad parents and broken family life, he’d always been a leader among his peers and had a high opinion of himself so that he regarded the respect and attention he garnered from that one play as no more than his due. He even had the good sense to always respond modestly to the praise received, saying that with a final score of 21 to 20 he had hardly won the game by himself and reminding people that it was Ben Soucy’s extra point under extreme pressure that actually put them ahead.

But Alice was implying his fame was something he would have to live up to as if he was a role model, and he couldn’t let that pass without comment. You mean the interception. Sure, I’m proud of that play, but are you suggesting I have to act like a minister or the mayor or something? Remember my nickname on the team was ‘Animal.’ I made hard tackles and played with abandon because I was a hell-raiser.

Alice shook her head and rolled her eyes again just as she had a few minutes ago, but this time she actually said What am I going to do with you guys.

Have patience, that’s what. Soon enough I’ll be smoking a pipe and going over the family finances while a bunch of kids play at my feet.

But right now it’s hell-raising time, is it? Well, let me give you a piece of advice. Don’t drive after drinking. That has nothing to do with hell raising. It’s just dangerous.

Robbie’s smile was close to the smirks he’d give teachers who gave him a hard time when he’d say the dog ate his homework or that his grandmother had died for the fifth time. We’ve got you covered. We plan to sleep at Gardie’s cottage after our celebrating.

She really was becoming rather tiresome. He didn’t mean to become hostile, but adults telling him what to do was something he never handled well. He felt like telling her to loosen up.

But if she noticed the smirk she hid it well. Well, just be careful, that’s all I’m saying.

Then as suddenly as he’d lost his good humor, he recovered it. We will. He turned and looked at the stairs. Hey, where’s Steve all this time?

He’s resting upstairs. His knees are killing him again.

Ben’s dad laid carpets for a living. It was a profession that rivaled football for knee problems. Sorry to hear that. Tell him we’ll tip a few for him at the party. He pulled Ben to his feet. Come on, my man, let’s go. At the door he turned. Don’t worry, Alice. I’ll get this boy to smile before the night is over.

Okay, be good, and remember you both have to get up early tomorrow morning and mow lawns all day. Remember to get some sleep.

Plenty of time for sleep when I’m an old man, Alice, was Robbie’s parting shot.

They walked down the gravel driveway to where his pride and joy was parked, a 1995 PONTIAC Grand Am. He’d worked two jobs in the spring and summer and one in the fall during football season to create this masterpiece of automotive perfection. The engine had short ram intake, full 2 ¼ inch exhaust with a Flo-Pro resonator and dual Flo-Pro mufflers, a 5 speed, short shifter transmission, a suspension of Genius springs, KYB shocks and struts, front and rear strut tower bars, and 215/45R17 Michelin Pilot tires. It was fire-engine red with shaved body cladding, antenna, trunk lock and emblems, FX Designs front and rear bumpers, VIS side skirts. Inside it had white face gauges, Auto Gauge tac, Ractive steering wheel, APC racing seats with RCI 4 point belts, blue interior lights and a mind-blowing Bose sound system that had woofers powerful enough to make windows shake a block away, all of which he had installed and tuned to perfection himself.

Backing up and turning down the street, he said over the rumble of the engine and the heavy-metal rock music, Shake yourself out of it, Ben. You can’t mope about Dee forever.

Instead of addressing the comment directly, Ben asked a question. You’ve never been in love, have you?

I’ve had the hots for a lot of girls, he said, finishing the remainder of his supper drink and throwing the cup out the window.

Yeah, but that’s not love.

I’m not sure what it is. Love I mean. As I told Alice, probably some day I’ll be married and love my wife and all that, but it ain’t real now. Now’s the time to have fun and raise hell.

But love is different. You feel incomplete unless she’s with you. That’s how I feel about Dee, anyways.

You two will get back together. She’s just playing you now. I was proud of you for not being pussy-whipped. Don’t let me down now. Tonight we have fun.

Yeah, I know, but I’d rather be—

With Dee. Yeah, I know right back at ya. But live in the moment, my friend. He braked suddenly. Ben lived on the outskirts of Waska and already they were in the country. A doe ran across the road ahead of them. Wow! Did you see that? I’m going to get me a buck next November.

That was a doe.

I know. I’ll get the one that ruts her up real good.

They started talking about hunting, and just as Robbie hoped Ben stopped moping.

After five minutes and as the twilight began winning out over the defeated sun, it was Robbie who returned to the reason for Ben’s moping. Dee doesn’t really think I’m a bad influence on you, does she?

That’s what she said.

You know she’s not the only girl in the world?

But she’s the one I love.

Yeah, I think I’ve heard you say that before, he said sarcastically before realizing his mistake. But here’s my point: she’s trying to control your life, for God’s sake. Don’t you think it’s a bit extreme, to say the least, that she’s trying to break up our friendship? We’ve been pals since the third grade.

I know.

So isn’t she unreasonable?

He didn’t answer right off, so Robbie stole a glance. Ben was looking out the window, chewing at his lip.

Not from her perspective. Like my mom said, she thinks it’s time I settled down.

That remark brought Robbie’s plan to a dead end. He was trying to find a way to tell Ben about a scheme that some of the guys were working on and which Larry Eiden told him about at the burger joint just before he went to collect Ben. Larry had talked Megan Chouinard into coming to the party, maybe with a friend. Megan was notorious for spreading joy (and as the guys often said with a grin, her legs) among his gang. She liked group sex. One time she performed fellacio on four guys in turn; other times she had been part of a threesome or foursome, including one memorable time when Robbie had her and another girl kiss and fondle each other naked to turn him on, after which he serviced both girls. Robbie’s idea was that once Ben got into the fun he’d find himself forgetting Dee plenty quick, but Ben was in such a funk that he didn’t dare bring it up now. Plan B was to get him drunk as quick as possible; then he’d be game.

As he told Alice, the party was going to be the last hurrah for a group of eight to ten guys from the football team who had hung out together all through high school. They were all hell-raisers; none of them were in any danger of being student of the year. A few, including Robbie, were leaning rather precipitously in the other direction, towards just barely graduating at all. Just today he learned he got the C+ in English necessary to nudge his grade point up to the minimum necessary for him to graduate. Although he did well on all the intelligence tests he’d taken through the years in school, he was an indifferent student because his priorities were girls, football and a hot car, two of which required a lot of money so that in his spare time he worked and only studied, if at all, during study periods in school. Cheating and having girls write his papers were what enabled him to graduate. Most of the other guys in his gang did much the same thing. It helped, too, to be a good athlete. There were many teachers who gave passing grades on a scale directly proportional to heroics on the gridiron. Even last November Robbie figured he had earned graduation when he made that interception, and he was right. With a wink and a nod, the teacher who gave him the C+ had added ten full points to the D+ he actually earned.

The steady guys on the team, the ones who got A’s and B’s and planned to go to college, who had sweethearts, or who were just plain dull and quiet boys, they did not socialize with the hell-raisers. Ben was the exception. He wasn’t a good student and he’d done plenty of hell-raising, but after falling for Dee his hell-raising dropped off. Robbie had heard to his disgust they’d even study together some nights and couldn’t shake the feeling that such behavior was a betrayal. That’s why it was very important to him that Ben had some fun tonight.

Gardie Donovan, who was hosting the party, was the other exception. He was the quarterback on the team, tall and handsome, with blue eyes brimming with self-confidence. Everyone regarded him as the campus golden boy (so golden he actually had golden-blond hair), and he had dated and slept with most of the prima donnas at Courtney Academy—the cheerleaders, the class leaders, and the professional, full-time-job beautiful girls—but he had a wild side especially shown in his taste for kinky or group sex, so that he often joined the hell-raisers on their weekend expeditions. His family’s cottage was a perfect setting for their plans. It was bigger than most houses in Waska, with a wide deck on one side that went around to the front and jutted out over the lake. Below it was the boathouse containing a large houseboat that the doctor used to putter around the lake with his friends. The house itself was two stories with a third story peak, shingled and painted red with white trim. Inside there was a very large open space containing kitchen, dining room and living room; on both sides stairs led up to railed balconies containing two bedrooms each, and on the opposite side from the kitchen there was also a bedroom on the first floor with twin beds, which they would use for the planned sexcapade. Robbie knew all this because on two or three other occasions the rich boy’s cottage had been used for wild and crazy fun.

Robbie suspected Gardie was jealous of him because of that interception. He had great stats and had been the hero of many a game the last three years, but Robbie’s interception overshadowed all Gardie’s previous heroics. He was the son of a rich doctor who owned his own clinic and had other doctors working for him. He was rich and spoiled and conceited while from the Donovans’ perspective Robbie was working class trash. They had never been friends, only teammates and competitors. In all that Robbie found nothing strange. So what if the rich guy looked down at the poor man. So what if they weren’t friends. And there was nothing strange about being competitors either. Competitiveness was what made a good athlete, and it was never just with opponents. You wanted to do better than your teammates too.

But they were at the access road to Gardie’s cottage now, and his thoughts returned to the immediate present. If those girls did come Robbie would make sure he was a winning sexual athlete as well. He put on his game face, ready to prove what needed to be proved, win what needed to be won. He looked over at Ben, who still had a hangdog look and had to stifle his exasperation. You get a few beers in you, Ben, and you’ll be all right.

Ben managed a weak smile. Maybe, he said doubtfully.

There were already five cars in front of the cottage. Robbie parked behind Mick Nadeau’s souped-up Ford, the last on that side so that he and Ben could leave early in the morning for work.

Mick was the wide receiver on the team. He was tall and thin—self-described as lean and luscious, for his dark hair and intense dark eyes made him a lady-killer even without the help of his slick car, which Robbie, still in his competitive mindset, thought was pretty mediocre compared to his Grand Am.

Getting out of the car, he saw Mick on the deck with Fred Latham and Chet Bork. He could see Fred waving a beer can in the air and yelling something. Fred, an offensive lineman, was a big guy with a round, red face, sleepy eyes and a pug nose who wore his blond hair close-cropped so that it looked like the back of his head had a double-chin. He was always game for anything. Someone would jokingly say, "Let’s pick up that Volkswagen and put it on the sidewalk, and Fred would be positioning himself at the back bumper before the guy had finished his sentence. He was Robbie’s kind of guy, all right—in fact it was Robbie who suggested this little prank, which didn’t get a chance to have been done because the cops had driven by just then and gave them a warning frown.

Closer now, they could hear Fred. Hey, Robbie! Hey, Ben! The beer’s getting warm. Hurry up!

And Fred’s drinking most of it, Mick said.

Chet Bork was manning the barbecue and just gave a wave. He was a good guy, though he had a strange hobby. He liked to cook. He was always the one who would man the barbecue at any outdoor activity, but his real love was stir-frying concoctions he’d make up from whatever was in the refrigerator. He could make vegetables taste good, so he was regarded by Robbie and the others as a genius. No one could call him a sissy, though. He was the center on the team and a giant of a man who could make devastating blocks that left defenders a crumpled heap on the ground.

Looking up from the sizzling hamburgers and wiping his hand on his T-shirt with a Patriots logo, Chet said, Hey, Ben. Hey, Animal, are you guys hungry?

I will be after a few beers. He reached in the cooler next to the table and grabbed a couple cans, tossing one to Ben and cracking open the other one. Did Gardie bring some weed?

Yup, Chet said, flipping a burger. We can mellow on that later.

That’s something Gardie’s dad needs to do, Mick said.

You talking about last Sunday? Robbie asked. Mick’s father owned a big powerboat that they had taken out on the lake last Sunday from the public access. They had fun roaring up and down the lake full throttle. They knew Gardie’s father, the bigshot doctor, hated the noise of powerboats and had even tried to get the local authorities to ban powerboats, and Mick had purposely driven close to Gardie’s cottage to piss off the old man.

Yeah, our work was rewarded. Dr. Donovan had a conniption fit and was sputtering all afternoon. Poor Gardie caught the flack.

Poor Gardie? His old man worships him.

But not his disreputable friends, it seems. He almost refused to let us use the cottage tonight.

Almost don’t count, Robbie said. He saw Gardie at the door, looking out and trying to catch his attention. When he did, he beckoned to Robbie with his chin.

Ben had moved over to the grill and was talking to Chet about something. Gardie’s signal clearly indicated that Ben was not included. Without a word, Robbie followed Gardie inside where Colin Harper and Lance Biggar were sitting on the couch with beers in hand and Lance’s cellphone on the coffee table.

Lance, like Mick a lady’s man, advertised the fact on his T-shirt, which had the male symbol of circle and arrow and the words, I’M READY ANY TIME YOU ARE. He wasn’t particularly handsome what with a big nose and crooked front teeth, but he was macho and that worked with the girls more than looks did. He was a running back and had had many moments of glory on the gridiron rewarded in the back seat of his car. That made him and Robbie colleagues.

Colin was the backup quarterback and played safety in passing situations. His best sport was actually baseball, but he’d pulled a hamstring in April and missed the entire season. For a long time he was as glum as Ben about it, but now that summer was here he was recovering his high spirits. Last week he was the only one that waterskied when they were on the boat. The late spring had left the lake water still icy cold even in mid-June. Like everyone except Gardie, who was wearing a polo shirt, he was wearing cargo shorts and a T-shirt, his with the Boston Red Sox logo on it.

Gardie sat in the easy chair, so Robbie parked his carcass on the hassock and took a swallow of beer. What’s the word?

Colin answered, The other girl may be a problem. Larry’s doing some fast talking right now. We’re waiting for his report, or if he doesn’t call that will mean he’s coming with the extra broad.

Who is she?

Priscilla Whitten.

Robbie thought for a moment. She was only a sophomore, but he’d seen her a few times. She was plain and shy and desperate to be noticed. Yeah, she goes by Cilla. She’s got nice tits. So what’s if she’s plain?

I don’t mean that. She might be virgin. And it seems she’s undecided about coming here.

I still don’t see any problem, Lance said. I’ve got some ruffies if needed.

It’d be better if she’s game, Gardie said.

Robbie frowned. The bitch better put out if she comes. What does she thinks she’s being invited up here for—to play monopoly? You know what, though. I just remembered why I knew something about this bitch. She ain’t a virgin. Roger Pelletier told me a couple months ago that he screwed her for a few weeks until he got tired of her. She wanted to get serious. So there’s no problem.

Unless she wants to play monopoly, Lance said.

She’ll come to play, Robbie said. She craves attention, wants to be popular.

So she’s smart enough to know how to be popular, Gardie said. Okay, then.

Why don’t we make a game of it, Robbie said. Challenge the girls to see who can screw the most guys.

I’ve got a box of rubbers ready. They should cover that contest, Gardie said with undisguised swagger. Let’s make the game double-edged. See how many times we can screw too.

Sounds like fun. Our only problem is Ben. He’s still moping around about Dee. I’m hoping he’ll get drunk and forget all about her.

What’s in this contest for the babes? Lance asked. Ben’s situation didn’t seem to interest him.

They’re invited to get off as much as they want, Robbie said. That Megan’s hot and will. The other one will have to do her duty.

Colin made a face. Duty? Interesting word. What d’ya mean by that?

What did he mean? That was a stupid question. He meant to service men was a woman’s duty. He believed that. He told Alice he thought most women wanted to control the man—but that was the slave’s daydream, and no real man would let it happen. That’s what he wanted Ben to learn. He couldn’t really understand all that relationship business Ben yakked on about. A girl was only good for one thing—her sex. Then it was like school: you cheated, lied, did anything to get by in school, and you cheated, lied and did anything necessary to get into a girl’s pants. Luckily most girls understood that it was a man’s world. That’s why they dressed like whores with bare midriffs, low tops that displayed their tits and tight pants so that you could get a look at the merchandise. So there was the proof most girls knew what their duty was. Those who didn’t were losers, lesbos or dykes. The way he explained all this in answer to Colin’s question was to say, It’s simple. Girls are here to please us. That’s their duty.

They nodded in agreement.

Colin’s question still surprised him, so to make sure they were on the same page, he elaborated his philosophical views on the female sex. Girls need to know who’s boss, know what I mean? Give them an inch and they take a mile. They want to be cats but they’re really obedient dogs unless you let them get away with shit. No guy who’s a real man does.

Again they both nodded in agreement.

So if this Priscilla Whitten doesn’t put out, she’s as good as a dyke. Then we’d have a duty to show her her duty.

Yeah, well, I’m not sure about that, Gardie said. We could get into trouble forcing her.

If she comes, she knows what she’s here for—that’s all I’m saying.

Okay. Let’s go out to the deck. It’ll be an hour or so before Larry gets here. He’ll only call if there’s a problem—that was our plan.

Chet had hamburgers ready and brought to the